Ronan Needs a Ride
by She Reads She Blogs
Summary: Dream Thieves Spoilers. PYNCH fic. Ronan needs a ride home from someplace he should not be. Rather than calling Gansey, he calls Adam.


"I… eed…ride." Ronan's voice was difficult to make out. Between the bad cell service and the drunken slur of his words, Adam could barely understand what it was that the other boy was trying to say.

"Come again?"

"I. Need. A. Fucking. Ride." Ah, that Adam understood. But where exactly was Ronan? And more importantly, why was he calling Adam? Retrieving a drunken Ronan was usually Gansey's Saturday night gig.

"Where are you?" He asked. The answer was an inaudible slew of curses and, what Adam assumed, were whiskey induced giggles. Still, he managed to jot down an address. It was one he recognized.

"Jesus, Ronan. Are you serious?" Did Ronan really expect Adam to pick him up there, of all places? Of course he did. Leave it to Ronan to find the only bar in town that doesn't care about the legal drinking age. Adam considered hanging up, and calling Gansey. This didn't have to fall on him. He was, in fact, the only one who had a job to go to in the morning. He glanced at the alarm clock on his night stand. 1:17am. Wonderful.

"I just need a ride, okay?" There it was again. That voice. The one that called to Adam when nobody was around. The pleading that only he could hear. There was an urgency to it. It was a voice that left no room for hesitation; only action would sooth it. Adam usually heard it when he was alone. A vision of Ronan, hovering above him- a clash of ink and skin, a vision intended for the eyes of Cabeswater's sacrificial lamb. But this was not a vision, this was a late night phone call from a stubborn drunk friend. Adam was out of bed and pulling on a pair of grease-stained jeans before he had even registered his decision.

"I'm on my way".

When Adam pulled in to the parking lot he was immediately relieved not to see his father's car inhabiting any of the oil stained gravel spaces. Of course, the thought had occurred to him that his father could still be inside, having caught a ride with any of Henrietta's finest. Still, he took comfort in the small victory of arriving without an immediate sitting. Panic was beginning to rise in his chest, making even breathing a difficult task. He pulled into the vacant spot next to Ronan's BMW, and exhaled slowly as he unbuckled his seat belt.

Once he was free of his restraint, Adam had intended on getting out and going to claim his bastard of a friend. The only problem was that as soon as he opened the door he was struck by the sounds of violent laughter and grotesque language. The bar's double doors were held open by wooden wedges, allowing the smell of booze and wasted life to seep out across the gravel lot. The smell was rank, and too familiar. Before he knew what was happening Adam found himself hunched over the rear of his car, discarding the contents of his stomach. He tried to steady himself, to stand up and get his head on straight. Standing only made it worse. He fell forward, his palms flat on the trunk of his car, his dinner spilled at his feet. Images of his father, red with rage and wreaking of cheap vodka, danced at the corners of his vision. Defeated by memory, Adam sank to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest, closing his eyes and inhaling the cool night around him.

_Breath_, he told himself. And he did. Eyes closed, curled into a ball, he sat on the ground and breathed, calming himself as he had a thousand times before. Because that's what it meant to be Adam Parrish- gather the broken pieces, contain the mess, care for yourself because nobody else is going to. When he opened his eyes there was a dark cloud, blurred around the edges by an incandescent neon glow. Great. Another vision. He shut his eyes, tighter this time, and rocked back and forth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6... He was counting. Counting was plan B, it was what he did when breathing didn't work.

On the count of 7 Adam felt a jolt and an immediate soreness in the back of his head. His eyes shot open, to find Ronan kneeling over him.

"Shit, Parrish! Your head." Was all Adam heard before the blackness consumed him.

Ronan was beside himself. His sober driver was unconscious on the gravel, a pool of vomit soaking into the ground beside them. His first thought was to call Gansey. But that would not do. There was a reason he had called Adam and not Gansey in the first place. Okay, so there was more than one reason, but Ronan was going to admit that, even to himself. He had put the pieces together all by himself. It hadn't been that difficult really, once he was paying attention. Adam liked Blue, Blue liked Gansey and sure as shit that son of a bitch liked her back. Of course, that wasn't the only reason he was annoyed by Dick, but that was the only reason he was willing to acknowledge. Certainly, that wasn't what had driven him to the bar that night. No, that reason had another name- and that name started with a capitol K.

Kavinsky was gone, Ronan knew that. He accepted it even. But what he couldn't accept- what drove him to the lowest of lowlife joints in town- was that Adam was not gone. He was faced with the reality of his situation and he couldn't bring himself to meet it with a sober mind. The attraction to Kavinsky had been apparent but also intolerable. Dude was obnoxious. Not to mention pretensions. He also kidnapped Matthew, which crossed every line Ronan knew how to draw. Adam, on the other hand, was none of those things. He was honest, and proud, and godamn stubborn. He was fragile and strong at the same time. He was everything.

Ronan knew what it was, when he felt it. He knew it wasn't a friendly feeling. Still, it wasn't until Kavinsky died, taking with him any chance of a more than friendly encounter, that Ronan realized he couldn't fight it. And why should he? Surely his attraction to Adam wasn't any worse than Gansey's attraction to Blue. It was his catholic upbringing and his hard exterior, which prevented him from acting on it. He knew better. He knew that Blue wasn't condemned to an eternal afterlife of hellfires for being brought up in a clairvoyant matriarchy. He knew that he was not condemned for his attraction to the same sex. He knew better in the same way that a college students claims to be old enough to know better but too young to care. There was a part of him that needed to hide behind faith, because acceptance required action and action most certainly entailed denial.

There he was, face to face with the boy who undid him. Of course, he felt like a parasite for having called Adam to this God forsaken pit that passed for a bar. Briefly, he considered picking Adam up and walking back to Monmouth. Of course, he was too drunk to manage heroics and too Ronan to attempt chivalry. He could see Adams eyes beginning to move beneath the lids, a sign of oncoming awareness. Relief flooded his very core.

"Parrish! Wake up, you fuck!" He shouted, gripping Adam by the shoulders and shaking him gently.

When his eyes finally opened, Adam found himself face to face with Ronan Lynch. His drunkard of a friend was stooped over him, one hand on each of his shoulders, his mock concern was almost believable. He had just knocked him out with the trunk of his own car, after all.

"Lynch," was all Adam could muster with his first attempt at speech. At the sound of his own name, Ronan's hardened face relaxed. Adam almost thought he saw a smile dancing at the edges of that stern jaw.

"Parrish," Ronan exhaled the name as if he had been holding his breath for minutes.

"Don't," Adam spit, as Ronan attempted to help him up. "I can handle standing, okay." It wasn't a question.

Wordlessly, the two took their seats in Adam's beater. They sat there, for a minute, without so much as a sound between the two of them. Finally, Adam turned the key, rearing the engine to life.

Ronan wasn't convinced that Adam should be driving., he opened his mouth to make a suggestion. "I can call…"

"Call who? Gansey? No. I'm quite capable of driving this car home by myself, even if it was once his sister's."

So that was that.

The drive home was a silent one, fueled by awkwardness and sideways glances. When they pulled up to Monmouth Ronan lingered for a moment with his hand on the door handle. There was something he needed to say before taking his leave.

"I'm sorry I called you" He muttered, half awake. It had been a long night full of mourning and awakening.

"Thanks?" Adam snorted an exhausted half laugh. Was Ronan sorry because it had clearly taken a toll on Adam? Or was he wishing he had called someone less likely to suffer from a panic attack in in the parking lot?

"Really, Parrish." Ronan was quiet, but he sounded almost sincere. "He wasn't there. I went, looking for a fight, and he wasn't there. I'm sorry I called you, but I wouldnt have if he had been there. I didn't think…"

At that, Adam could hold his tongue no longer.

"You didn't think what, Ronan? That I might lose it? That I couldn't hack it?" Adam was livid. "And what do you mean, you went looking for a fight?!" He demanded. "What? Beating my dad up once wasn't enough for you, Lynch? That kind of thing just does it for you, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up, Parrish!" Of course beating his dad up once hadn't been enough. Ronan could have beat that man senseless a hundred times and wouldn't have been enough. Not by a long shot. But as Ronan prepared his next statement he saw Adam's face fall. _Fuck_, he thought, _there is no limit to what this kid will blame himself for._

Adam had shut up. So had Ronan. There was nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing and the smell of Ronan's intoxication.

Perhaps it was the whiskey. Perhaps it was the quiet. Whatever it was, it had been strong. Strong enough to send a single tear rolling down Adam's cheek. Strong enough to lift Ronan's hand gently to the spot where that tear fell. Strong enough to send a shiver through both boys as their skin came in contact.


End file.
